Love Like Winter
by tsumimita
Summary: Franada. Winter Olympics. Matthew is feeling a bit cold after losing his gloves, but of course, Francis is there to warm him up.


Matthew had left his gloves outside on a bench for less than five minutes. _Five minutes_, just to go to the restroom and yet when he came back, the Canadian found his warm, soft and favorite brown gloves… _missing._

_'They must've forgotten who owned it,' _thought Matthew bitterly, before sighing. Kumajirou had long wandered off, probably watching ice hockey, where he only wished he could be. For the moment, he was stuck skiing… without his gloves. If his hands were cold before, they'd have chilblains later on.

Gloves or not, he had to participate in the next event. He couldn't let the people of Canada down, no! Determination, however, did not deter the chills that shook the blond.

Trembling, he began to walk back to the skiing course. Seeing as he did not have anything for anyone to identify him by (the Canadian flag had been sown onto his now missing gloves and Alfred had replaced the flag on his jacket with the American flag while he wasn't looking), a great number of people passed by him, slapping him on the back with a grin and a _'great job, Jones!'_ By the tenth time, he'd given up trying to tell them that his name was Matthew, and no, he wasn't American.

As he walked, he slowly realized that there was a pair of footsteps walking alongside him. He'd just begun to grumble out his identity when came from the stranger, 'Hey Matthew.'

Surprised, Matthew looked up to find Francis grinning at him, a snowboard tucked under his arm.

'A-Ah, Francis! Where did you just come from…?'

'Snowboarding.'

'O-Oh, sorry. It's kind of obvious, eh?'

The Frenchman laughed as Matthew chuckled, albeit a bit nervously. The way the blond moved slightly closer did not go by unnoticed by the Canadian, who tried not to show his discomfort, still quite preoccupied with his lack of gloves.

'Well then, what are you doing now?'

'Skiing, this time. That's what you're doing, aren't you?'

'How did you know?'

'Checked up on you, mon cher.'

He definitely had something up his sleeve, Matthew just knew it. Francis was acting strangely. With a glance down, he noticed that he did not have gloves either, instead his hands bare with a slight tremor.

'F-Francis! Where are your gloves?!'

'Ah, about that. I seem to have lost them…'

The Canadian went to grab his hand, but quickly attempted to withdraw it as he realized exactly what he was doing, but to no avail as he found his hand engulfed in Francis' tight grip. Judging from that silly smile plastered on his face, he'd been counting on this. Matthew frowned, but found that he couldn't stop the blood that rushed to his cheeks. He swore that the heat was melting the ice particles that had strayed onto his face.

'…Francis, please let go of my hand.'

'You're cold too, non? If I hold your hand, you'll feel warm, won't you?'

This, Matthew just couldn't deny. Not that there'd be any point in doing so; Francis probably wouldn't let go of his hand even if he did so. So, grudgingly, with a flushed face, Matthew resigned to his fate and simply continued to walk, averting his eyes from the Frenchman's gaze. It was practically sparkling. _Sparkling._

As the pair of blonds walked, they received a few strange glances at their intertwined hands, which slightly unnerved Matthew. Admittedly though, regardless of the stares, it was fairly pleasant; the sensation of a warm hand against his. It wasn't the softest hand that he'd ever felt (not that he had felt that many hands in the first place) but there was something about the way his fingers brushed against his, the way he handled him. Anyway, he was just grateful he wasn't doing anything like groping his hand or… other places.

And suddenly, Francis let go of his hand. Matthew felt a strange sense of disappointment as Francis laughed, almost apologetically, 'We're here already.'

'Alright then. U-Um… t-thank you, Francis.'

"It was my pleasure, mon cher.'

And, just when Matthew least expected it, Francis quickly dipped down to kiss his hand, a mischievous grin on his lips.

'F-Franci-'

The next thing he knew, a pair of cold lips found its way against his, a foreign moist tongue heavy in his mouth as it eagerly explored the warm cavern, and as quickly as it came, it disappeared. If Matthew thought that he was going to get chilblains before, he'd probably be suspected of having a fever now.

_'FRANCIS!!'_

'Haha, good luck, Matthew! Au revoir!'

Red faced, the Canadian grumbled to himself, 'Stupid, stupid Francis, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ me…'

'Who?'


End file.
